


can you save (my heavy dirty soul?)

by stardustgirl



Series: Mistborn AU [1]
Category: Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: (Level Four Friendship Required), 3 + 1, A whole lot of angst, Allomancy, Angst, Espionage, Ezra Bridger Needs a Hug, Ezra Has 0 Chill, He's Either Terrified Or Fighting Everyone, Heavy Angst, I suppose, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mistborn AU, More Just Ezra Trying To Reason With Himself, Obligators, Steel Inquisitors, Steel Ministry, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unintended Consequences, but it's slight, three times, tragic backstory, very slight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-01-23 16:43:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18553720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustgirl/pseuds/stardustgirl
Summary: Three times he doesn’t trust Kanan, and one time he does.(You don’t necessarily have to have read Mistborn to understand this!)





	1. i don’t wanna be (all alone and defeated)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from “Defeated” by Bad Suns.
> 
> TW: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Suicide Attempt (unsuccessful)

Ezra sits on the edge of the roof, eyes roving over the city below.  The mists are particularly thick tonight, and though they normally comfort him, tonight they have the opposite effect.  He shifts his weight, blinking rapidly as the movement strains his forearm. The small pouch of coins tied to his belt next to his vials jingles, the only sound in the night beyond his own breathing.

He hopes there won’t be any disturbances tonight, that he won’t have to engage anyone in a fight until his arm heals from the most recent beating.  But at the same time, he almost _hopes_ for a fight, almost _hopes_ that he’ll have a reason to use his abilities, almost _hopes_ he can have another chance to prove his life is worth something.

He hears a faint noise in the dark and jumps, blinking against the mists and nearly flaring his tin in an attempt to see _something._  But he can’t Seek with his coppercloud up.  Sighing quietly, he stops burning copper, and starts burning bronze.

_There._

A faint throbbing in the back of his mind allows him to locate a Coinshot, surprisingly close.  He gets to his feet, rolling his neck and flexing his fingers. If he dies doing this, it won’t matter.  If he lives, and the assailant gets through, it _will_ matter, and he’ll have wished he died.

He walks off the roof.

He Pushes at a gate far beneath him, launching himself higher into the air.  His mistcloak flutters around him, and his tin-enhanced ears hear a soft pinging in the darkness.  He Pushes against the gate, this time at a different angle, and starts searching for a landing spot.

The pinging stops mere seconds after he lands on the low roof of the abandoned guardhouse.  There’s a new one, on the south side of the estate, so he’s guessing that’s why the Coinshot’s here.  He rises from his crouch, eyeing the tall silhouette warily.

“This is the estate of House Pryce.  Leave, or I’ll– I’ll have to take defensive action,” he stutters, disappointed in how timid his own voice sounds.  There’s only a soft chuckle, and the silhouette takes a step closer.

Ezra finds himself taking a step back.

“And what would ‘defensive action’ be, hmm?  Throwing a bunch of coins at me?”

“I—”

“Like these ones?”  There’s a sharp, abrupt tug on his belt, and the coin pouch sails off, landing in the man’s outstretched hand.  The man takes another step forward.

“I– I have to ask you to leave.  This is– this is my final warning,” he stammers, swallowing hard as the man continues to advance and he continues to retreat.  “What– what do you want?”

The Coinshot doesn’t answer, only taking another step and forcing Ezra even further back as the man easily ties the pouch to his belt.  He can feel the open air behind him now.

“What do you want?!” he asks again, unable to hide the terror in his voice.  He grabs for his knife, thrusting the glass dagger blade-first at the man. He seems unamused.  The man gently pushes the dagger away with a gloved finger, and Ezra swallows.

He adjusts his grip on the hilt, trying to avoid the drop below—sure, it’s a low building by Pryce standards; only two stories, and there’s metal he can Push off of and Pull from if he feels the need, but he still hates the feeling of just the _void_ behind him.  He studies the man intently, trying to make out features, but the most he can make out—even with tin—is that he has facial hair and his actual hair is pulled back into a neat tail.  As he watches, the man pulls a vial from his belt, downing the contents swiftly before moving to return it to his belt.

Ezra makes his move.

He slashes at the man’s arm with his dagger, but the man’s already got a grip on him without warning.  He squeezes at just the right point on his wrist to force the teenager to relax his grip, dropping the knife neatly into the Coinshot’s other hand.  He cries out, abruptly falling silent as the man moves his grip from his arm to his collar and he’s in the air without warning. He glances down, returning his gaze quickly to the man.  He can vaguely make out his expression now; teal eyes sharp and dangerous as he holds Ezra above what could very well be his death below.

He’s suddenly reminded of what will happen if he survives this and the Pryces realize he escaped with his life and allowed an intruder through, and he opts to simply close his eyes and exhale softly instead of begging.

“...you’re a kriffing _kid._ ”

His eyes crack open at the soft voice and he looks up, blinking.  “I’m _fourteen._  I’m not a _kid._ ”

The man barks out a laugh, and he finds himself being pulled back from the edge and deposited onto the roof.  He stands quickly, brushing himself off and eyes latching onto the knife in the man’s hand.

“That’s _exactly_ what a kid would say.”

He lunges for the dagger.  He’s not sure what happens, only that it involves the man moving his leg and ends with Ezra on his back.  Wincing, he sits up, getting into a crouch instead of fully rising as he watches the Coinshot. He counts to five.

“I’m.  Not. A.   _Kid!_ ” he shouts, standing and Pulling at his coin pouch in the same movement.  It nearly makes it to him, too—except the man stops it with a hand, drawing his own dagger with the other.  He takes a step closer, holding it to Ezra’s throat. He stiffens, resolving in the same instant not to fight it.

“Now.  I’m going to go into the manor, I’m going to...liberate something, and you’re not going to try and pull any tricks.  Are we clear?” He doesn’t nod, only stares at the man. “ _Are we clear?_ ”  Ezra gives the slightest of nods, and the man lowers the dagger, gesturing.  “Show me the best way to get in without alerting the guards.”

Ezra turns, obediently walking to the edge of the roof.  He starts burning his iron, searching for an anchor, and then thinks better of it.  He flares his pewter, waits a half second, and jumps.

Something tugs on his belt— _the atium vial,_ he thinks in the rush—but he doesn’t notice much more than that; the vial quickly Pulls away from him.

_He’s a Lurcher, too.  A_ Mistborn.

He hits the ground, breath exhaling in a _whoosh._  Rolling onto his back, he sees the Mistborn staring down at him— _a thief,_ he realizes—before the man jumps, Pulling on an anchor Ezra didn’t use.  His pewter starts to give out at long last and his eyes squeeze shut as he gives a sharp cry of pain.  As his vision starts to fade in and out, his thoughts become few and far between. Most notably is that _the fall wasn’t far enough._

He blacks out.


	2. you would rather crash (than go straight ahead)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ezra's about 16/17, and Sabine's about 17.
> 
> Title from "All This Could Be Yours" by Cold War Kids.
> 
> TW: Mention of Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

He’s almost half asleep, bronze burning low in case there _does_ end up being a disturbance tonight—with the party going on below, he wouldn’t be surprised.  But so far, no one’s shown, and the night’s half over already. He shifts, leaning back on the roof again in a more comfortable position as he stares unblinkingly at the stars.  As his eyelids are drifting closed again, he hears a clatter. Ezra jolts and pushes himself up onto his elbows, rubbing his eye as he nearly flares his bronze automatically.

He feels a faint throbbing a tower over, and closer examination reveals it’s a Rioter.  Only moments later, however, the trace of zinc disappears.

He pushes himself all the way up, slowly getting into a crouch as he burns tin.  He can see a figure climbing around the tower, glancing behind themselves cautiously before passing to the far side, and out of his line of sight.  Swearing quietly, he rises and makes his way over to the edge of his own tower, burning copper and iron as he leaps across the gap and lands on a railing.  He climbs up, heaving himself over the edge of the tower’s roof before getting into a crouch silently. He moves toward the far edge of the tower, but pauses.  Voices.

“—swear, _no one_ saw me leave.  I just Rioted a couple of the more drunk ones and let ‘em start yelling at each other, and then slipped out.”  The voice is familiar to him and he cocks his head, trying to place it as someone else speaks.

“There’s an obligator there, and I’d guess at _least_ two Mistborn.  Are you _absolutely certain_ they didn’t see you leave?”  The other voice, the more feminine one, snorts derisively.

“‘Course, Kanan.  This isn’t the first time I’ve done this.”

Exhaling quietly, Ezra flares bronze.  And freezes.

“Hold on.”  The man’s burning tin and bronze, too, and Ezra regrets dropping his coppercloud.

He carefully pulls his dagger out, running a thumb over the sleek glass as he waits.

The man reaches his side of the tower, and everything happens at once.

Ezra thrusts with the dagger, already nearly flaring steel against the onslaught of coins the Mistborn shoots at him.  The attacker easily dodges his strike, and while burning his tin, Ezra can see he’s smirking. Growling, he lunges again, swiping at the man’s upper arm.  He feels a sudden tug on his belt as the man ducks his blow again, and stares, speechless, as his assailant easily catches Ezra’s own bag of coins in a hand.

His eyes widen and then narrow in recognition.  “ _You,_ ” Ezra growls.

“Kanan?”

The Rioter pokes her head around the spire, slightly behind the man named Kanan.  Ezra’s gaze flicks to her and, once again, his eyes widen in shock.

“Sabine?”

“Ezra?”

“You two know each other?” Kanan asks, surprise evident in his tone.  Ezra takes the chance to strike again, but this time Kanan blocks it with a glass dagger of his own.  He mutters a curse as the momentum of the block nearly sends him over the edge of the roof.

“Yeah, met him at that first party a couple months ago.”  Ezra watches the interaction warily, adjusting his grip on the deflected dagger as he slowly starts to burn his pewter.  Instantly Kanan’s gaze snaps to him, and Ezra curses quietly again. Sabine snorts.

“For a noble, you’ve got a pretty filthy mouth.”  He shoots her a glare.

“I’m not a noble.”

“You trying to interfere with our heist then?  Get the haul for yourself and whatever thieving crew you’re working for?”

“No, he’s a noble; I met him a couple of years ago coming here,” Kanan admits quietly.  Sabine glances over as the man’s mouth lifts into a smirk. “He said he’d take ‘defensive action.’  Then he fell off the roof.”

“I didn’t fall, I jumped,” he mutters in an undertone as Sabine laughs again, making a comment along the lines of “isn’t he a _Mistborn?_ ”

“What was that?” Kanan interrupts, raising a hand to silence Sabine.  He can feel the man Soothing him, and almost attempts to fight it, but decides it’s not worth it at the last moment.  The Pryces will likely kill him anyway once they find out he was fraternizing with intruders, and _skaa_ intruders no less.

“I didn’t fall, I jumped,” he repeats, louder.  Sabine’s smirk fades and her brows knit together; Kanan’s face remains neutral.

“Why?”

“You think they’d let me live after letting you get in?!  I nearly didn’t anyway, they just apparently _care_ too much about their Mistborn halfbreed to kill him over a robbery,” he answers in a rush, breathing hard.  He adjusts his grip on the dagger again, only further infuriated by Kanan’s Soothing now.

“You’re skaa?  But I thought—”

“ _Half-_ skaa.  Which is apparently worse.”  Ezra’s instincts are screaming for him to fight back against the Soothing, but he’s unsure how.  He only knows that he’s way too calm for this conversation, these people, this _situation._  He hates it, but only distantly, not as strongly as he knows he should.

“Why haven’t they killed you?  Or turned you over to the Inquisitors?  Or—”

“ _Sabine!_ ” Kanan hisses suddenly.  The girl’s hand goes to what must be a dagger, half-hidden by her mistcloak.  Ezra flares his tin, glancing over his shoulder. He flares bronze, too, eyes widening in surprise as he detects how close the apparent Coinshot is.

“Maul, I know,” she replies to Kanan, and a quick glance back reveals her dagger now fully out, the obsidian blade glinting in the moonlight.  “Well, fun talking to you kid, but we have an appointment to keep.” She offers a mock salute, the attempt at levity only barely covering the fear that simmers beneath.  Ezra swallows as she brushes easily past him, apparently not worried that he might stab her while doing so, and drops to a crouch to slide down the slope of the roof onto the lower level.  Kanan shoots a glance at Ezra, following the teenager’s gaze to his coin pouch, still held hostage by the former.

“Here, you’ll need this.”

Ezra eyes it suspiciously.  “I—”

“Just keep it, kid.  Look, I gotta go, so either you keep it or you don’t; make your decision now.”  He stares at the pouch a moment longer before Kanan sighs, taking a coin out and flipping it off of the roof before he pockets the pouch.  As he approaches the edge, he stops, turning back to Ezra. His expression is oddly somber. “Kid, I’d get inside now.”

He shrugs.  “They’ll kill me if I go inside before daybreak, and even then they still might.”

“You’re too valuable for that.  Just...make sure your metals are high, then.”  Without another word, Kanan turns, Pushing off of the coin he’d flipped only moments ago as he leaps across to the other tower, taking Ezra’s pouch with him.

The teenager watches him go, Sabine following and managing to keep up for the most part, surprisingly.  He runs a hand through his hair, missing the feeling of it having an actual _length_ to it rather than the slight scruff it has now.

 _Maul._  Who _is_ that?  Sabine had seemed more vengeful than anything when she’d said the name, but Kanan had seemed genuinely concerned for Ezra’s welfare.

_That’s a lie.  He’s not, he just wants you to give the Pryces another excuse to kill you so he doesn’t have anyone standing in his way during his next heist._

There’s a soft clink from the other side of the spire, and Ezra turns to look over his shoulder.  Is Maul the Coinshot? Briefly he considers going inside, per Kanan’s suggestion, but he shakes the idea off just as quickly.  Instead he grabs a vial, uncorks it and downs the contents easily before returning it to his belt. He burns bronze, and waits.

He hears the voice before Maul enters his line of vision, and it makes his skin crawl now that Kanan isn’t there to Soothe his stronger emotions.  He shudders, shifting his dagger to his other hand.

“Ah, yes, of course _Kanan Jarrus_ would leave before the job is done.”

Maul comes around the spire, his features mostly obscured by shadow and a mistcloak; even with Ezra’s tin burning high.  He swallows, taking a step backward; something about the man is off-putting to him.

“Who- who’s Kanan Jarrus?”

The man chuckles, shaking his head slowly as he steps into the moonlight and removes his hood.  Ezra gasps, stumbling further back and tripping over the edge of the roof. He Pulls at the very top of the spire, just enough to get himself back onto the roof—and in full view of the newly-revealed obligator.

“I think you know _very_ well who Kanan Jarrus is, Ezra Pryce—or shall I use your _preferred_ name?”  He swallows, heart pounding as he tries to think of a way out.  A noble Allomancer wouldn’t have any reason to fear an obligator.  So why is he acting like he _does?_  Kriff, he really _is_ bad at lying, just like his father says.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But does Ezra _Bridger?_ ”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeats.  Maul takes a step closer, and Ezra switches hands with the dagger again.

“I know _all_ about your ancestry, young one.”   _Then why are you bothering with all this!?  Just take me in already, kill me, get it over with if you’re going to!_  “I know about your father, and your mother—a pity she died so soon, I truly _am_ sorry.”  His heart pounds harder and he takes a shaky breath in, clenching his hand around the dagger.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about; Lady Pryce is al- alive and well.”

“Oh please.  There is no need to lie to me, Ezra.  It would be obvious to _anyone_ who asked that she is not your biological mother, and going by the bruise on your cheek, I would go so far as to say that she is _no_ mother to you.”  He swallows thickly, subconsciously reaching a hand up to brush against the bruise from almost twelve hours ago before wincing.

“If- if you think I’m a halfbreed, then why- why are you confronting me about it now, a- all the way up here?” he challenges in a weak attempt at defiance.  Maul chuckles again.

“Because, unlike the others in the Canton of Orthodoxy, I possess _foresight._  And I believe that my knowledge of your status as a...halfbreed, to use the crude term, would benefit us both.”  Ezra can’t help but laugh at the statement, even while staring at Maul’s tattooed face that he knows should be striking fear into him.  But the entire proposition is just so _ridiculous._

“I- hold on, are you- are you seriously saying- are you saying that I’d _help_ you?  That I’d willingly hand myself over to the Steel Ministry, just- just so you can get a _promotion?_ ”  Maul’s gaze turns dark and thunderous and Ezra instantly quiets.

“I believe I could be persuaded to keep quiet about your existence, and keep the attention of the rest of the Steel Ministry away...for a price.”

“I don’t have any coins.  They got stolen.”

“You’ll get more,” Maul replies in an off-handed manner.

“Yeah, more copper clips.  You think the Pryces would trust me with anything better than that?”

“Money is not the only currency.  As an obligator, you know I am privy to most agreements, whether believed to be under the table or not.  However, there is one place that no one in the Steel Ministry has managed to infiltrate—”

“—the skaa underground,” finishes Ezra.

Understanding dawns on him as Maul nods.  “Precisely.”

“So you want me to _spy_ for you?”

“If you would like me to keep quiet about the existence of a half-skaa Mistborn, then yes, though that is a rather _simple_ way of putting it.”

He adjusts his grip on the dagger again.  “How do I know you won’t just betray me and tell the Inquisitors where I am anyway?”

Maul smiles.  “You don’t. It’s called trust, Ezra.  Can you give me yours?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out really long but also really well I think?? It's a bit heavy on Mistborn terminology though so I apologize to anyone reading this who hasn't read the books; if something's too confusing ask and I'd be happy to explain!


	3. i'm the voice inside your head (you refuse to hear)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ezra's about 17.
> 
> Title from "The Pretenders" by Foo Fighters.
> 
> TW: Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drowning Attempt, Implied/Referenced Torture of a Child, Referenced Manipulation of a Child, Slight Stockholm Syndrome ( _very_ slight)

He knows his father was manipulating him.

He hasn’t experienced that much pure _hatred_ for anyone, ever.  Not even during his Snap.  There was more confusion then than anything.  Confusion as to why he couldn’t be let up, as to why no one seemed to notice the fact that he couldn’t breathe.  He’d been young then. Naive.

He knows now that they noticed.  They just didn’t _care._

Still, he perches on the edge of the roof, hugging himself tightly in an effort to lessen the cold.  It doesn’t work. The wind continues to sting at his face, cutting into the welt that’s been gradually forming along his jaw for the past two hours.

“Who are you watching for this time?”

Ezra starts, falling off the roof and latching onto the eave.  Straining, he tries to pull himself up, but is unable to. Sighing, he pulls a coin from his pouch with his free hand and tosses it to the ground, using it to Push himself onto the roof.  He Pulls the coin up, slipping it back into his pouch as he glares at Kanan.

“You.”

The man laughs, taking a step closer.  Ezra edges away, eyeing him. “Glad you think I’m that important.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why are you...here?”  Kanan glances around at the night sky, his body language almost _daring_ Ezra to attack, but he can’t find the energy.  “It’s cold. Would be better for you to be inside.”

The teen rolls his eyes, scoffing quietly.  “No. I’d rather take my chances with the mists.  It’s not like they can hurt me.”

“Fair point.”  Kanan shrugs, walking to the edge of the roof on Ezra’s left and sitting, legs dangling off the precipice.  The teen bristles and steps away, but the older Mistborn appears not to notice. “You ever go outside the walls?”

“No.”  It’s a foolish question.  Why would he, when he’s a halfbreed?  When he could be killed without hesitation, or worse?  The Pryces are the only thing between him and death by torture at this point.  And Maul.

“It’s a lot darker out there.  Quieter, too.”

“Why would I care?”

Kanan’s silent for a moment, and Ezra genuinely considers pushing him off the roof.  He could do it, if he wanted to. Kanan would survive, of course, and then kill him. But he could still do it.

He’s too exhausted to, however, and he knows.  He also knows that Kanan knows.

“What did Maul say to you?”

He jumps again, blinking as he looks at Kanan.  The thief is looking away, into the mists, as if he can see over the wall from here.  Ezra finally sits, still a few meters from Kanan, and shrugs.

“Does it matter?  I wouldn’t be able to say no anyway.”

The man shrugs, still looking away.  “What about your father, then?”

He tenses, fingers curling over the eave of the roof as he stares pointedly at the ground.  “Why do you care?” he grits out.

“Just wanted to know how much my earlier discussion affected him.”

_The belt slashes his face and he’s unable to hold back a cry as he collapses into the wall, breathing heavy as he turns the injured side of his jaw away from his father._

_“Disappoint me_ again, _boy.  Do it. See what happens,” the man snarls.  Ezra nods jerkily, finally forcing himself to peel away from the wall and face his father once more._

_“I- I won’t mess up next time, F- M- Master.  I pr- promise. I promise. I’ll be there, I’ll stop--”_

_“And if you_ aren’t _there….”  He nods again, sniffing as he stares at the floor._

_“I pro- promise.”_

_“Good.  And just to ensure you_ remember…. _”  His father lifts the belt again and Ezra cowers further, shoulders hunched._

_“Pl- please.”_

_“Please_ what? _”_

_“M- Master.  I’m sor- sorry.”_

_“Turn around.”  He obeys, already shutting his eyes tight in anticipation._

_The belt cracks as it comes down again, and Ezra screams once more._

“It affected him,” he says tonelessly, ignoring the pain in his face and back.  “I promise.”

There’s silence again, and Ezra remembers his father’s reaction when he had first discovered the con Kanan had pulled.  Remembers rushing over, trying to not give his father the option of tardiness as another potential punishment. Remembers the initial accusations.

“Kid.”

He blinks.  “Yeah?”

“You wanna leave?”

“Why would I?” he scoffs, getting to his feet as Kanan finally meets his gaze again.  “I have everything here. Food, water. There’s nothing else for me out there.” He gestures to the rest of the city, before his gaze lands on Kanan again.  “Not like there is for you.”

The man holds his gaze a long moment before shrugging, pulling a coin out of a pouch on his belt.  “Alright. The offer still stands though, if you ever want it.” He flips the coin off the tower and plunges into the mists after it.

Ezra finds himself alone.  Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	4. if you find yourself (in a lions’ den)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from “My Blood” by Twenty-One Pilots.
> 
> TW: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

The ashfall is heavier than usual today, coloring the streets black.  It’s thick in Ezra’s hair, too, but he doesn’t bother trying to fix it, just limping through the crowd and keeping his head down.

_ “You will find the other Mistborn, and you will not rest until you do.  You will then either kill him or bring him to me. Am I understood?” _

_ Ezra nods, a slight, small movement.  “Y– yes Master.” _

_ “Good.” _

He passes under a sign, swinging slightly from a pair of kids throwing rocks at it only moments ago.  A pile of ash slumps off, falling into his face, and he coughs. He pauses long enough to shake his head before continuing.

Luthadel is busier than he’d thought.  More crowded, too. A noble’s carriage passes by, wheels cutting fresh tracks into the ash on the ground.  He doesn’t recognize the colors off the top of his head and finds himself glad. Here, he doesn’t need to worry about politics.  He can pretend he’s just as normal as any of the other skaa as he weaves through their crowd, pretending to know what’s going on.

He’s halfway down the third side street he’s checking when something grabs his arm.

He whirls, coins already in hand and starting to spray them with a wide Steelpush when a hand clamps over his mouth.  He twists, screaming muffled as he tries to bite his assailant.

“ _ Kriff, _ kid!  Just  _ hush it! _ ”

He recognizes Kanan’s voice and his struggles slow, though he still pushes against the man’s firm chest behind him.  Kanan adjusts his grip on his arm.

“I’ll let go of your mouth when I know you can be quiet.  Can you be quiet?” Ezra is unresponsive for a long minute before finally nodding, and Kanan removes his hand and releases his arm.

Turning, the teen frowns.  “What’re you doing?!”

“You’ve got a Steel Inquisitor on your tail,” Kanan says in a low voice.  “You dropped it a street back, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still there.”

Ezra’s blood runs cold.  He stumbles a step back, shaking his head vigorously.  “No, no you’re lying.”

Kanan takes a step forward.  “I’m not.”

Ezra scoffs, pushing his hair up with a hand as he takes another step backward.  “You are. Why would you help me?”

“Why would I lie to you?”

“The halfbreed has a point.”

Ezra jumps at the gravelly voice, and even Kanan starts too.  He whirls, three coins already in his fingers and ready to be sent out with a Steelpush.

But the sight that greets him makes him drop his weapons.

A Steel Inquisitor, eyes gouged out and replaced with the steel spikes giving it its name, stands at the entrance of the side street, mouth curled into a smile that makes Ezra’s mouth go dry.

He’s never seen something that’s scared him almost as much as his father before.

Not until today.

He turns to bolt, already shoving past Kanan when something on his waist jerks, pulling him halfway back until there’s a snapping sound and he tumbles into a heap.  Scrambling to his feet, Ezra bolts again, now running toward Kanan—who’s  _ shooting coins back at the Inquisitor. _

When he reaches the older Mistborn, Kanan turns and flees with him, narrowly avoiding a small nail sailing toward them from the direction of the Inquisitor.

He follows Kanan through the streets, staying directly in the man’s wake as he barrels through the crowds of skaa.  Finally Ezra is about to round another corner when he finds himself being tugged into a small alcove by Kanan.

The man slaps a hand over his mouth, ignoring Ezra’s flinch.  “Burn copper,” he mouths. Ezra nods jerkily, nearly flaring the metal as Kanan removes his hand.  A moment later, Kanan mouths, “Stop.” He stops, stops burning everything, and he instinctively knows Kanan has done the same.

After several minutes of tense silence, the thief leans back, peering out into the street, before relaxing and stepping out.  Ezra follows, still wary.

“It’s gone,” Kanan announces in a low voice, still scanning the streets despite the statement.

“I’ll go, then.”

He’s already halfway turned when he feels Kanan’s grip on his elbow.  “Don’t.”

He doesn’t turn when he replies.  There’s no animosity in it this time, just exhaustion.  “Why?”

“You don’t have to go back.”

“Thank you, but...I do.”  Kanan’s hand remains a moment longer before leaving.  Ezra waits only a moment longer before he does, too.

When he finally lights on the edge of the window of his father’s study almost eight hours later, sufficiently dirtied and injured by his own hand, it’s completely dark, the only light to his now-tin-absent gaze that of the lamp within.  He raps quietly on the glass, and his father lets him in moments later as he murmurs a soft thanks.

“Report.”

“I killed him, F– Master.  He’s dead.”

His father doesn’t ask how, or press for details, only nods and returns his attention to the papers on his desk.  Ezra waits to be dismissed, hands clasped together in front of him and gaze down. However, his father isn’t done.  The man’s next words take him by surprise.

“The child is a month old.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited because we live on the edge my dudes.


End file.
